


Partial to Pumpkin Spice

by sandwastesinthevoidofmychest



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Beginnings, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Greg is Smitten, Lots of blushing, M/M, Not Beta Read, POV Greg, Pumpkin Spice Lattes, i could write these two falling in love for the rest of my life, mycroft being adorable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-09
Updated: 2018-09-09
Packaged: 2019-07-10 09:38:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15946682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sandwastesinthevoidofmychest/pseuds/sandwastesinthevoidofmychest
Summary: Greg decides he deserves a coffee after a case, after all everybody is partial to something, right?





	Partial to Pumpkin Spice

**Author's Note:**

> This is my attempt to try and associate pumpkin spice lattes with something happy. So cute Mystrade feels it is.

Greg reasoned with himself that he definitely deserved a coffee after what he’d been through for the last fourteen hours. 

He had been soaked in two separate rain showers and was pretty sure he’d never feel warm again. They’d arrested the murderer though, which was a successful ending of his day. 

That just left him with a coffee and warm shower to look forward to, before a shit tonne of paperwork tomorrow. 

He’d take what little happiness he could get. 

 

He’d made it as far as Westminster, and the nearest café just happened to be a bustling Starbucks. He glances in the windows as a light rain starts to fall. It seems bearable; not too busy to be uncomfortable. It’s then that he realises that it’s past nine at night and feels relieved that Starbucks in the centre of London appear to be perpetually open. 

As the bell on the door tinkles above him, he’s met with an unexpected warmth. A barista glances up and smiles at him. Greg finds himself smiling back easily. 

 

As he makes his way towards the counter, he catches the briefest glimpse of red hair down near the back of the café. He can’t help but be surprised at the little excited stutter his heart gives. 

It couldn’t be, could it?

If he’s being honest with himself - which he hasn’t been a lot lately, he could have easily found a café nearer to where the crime scene was, and not one right across from the parliament buildings. 

Was it some sort of subconscious hopefulness? 

The thought of Mycroft Holmes frequenting a Starbucks seems bizarre. 

Any time Greg had met Mycroft in public, it was always somewhere that offered ‘authentic’ Italian style coffee. 

 

“Sir?” Greg’s attention swiftly turns to the barista, a blush forming on his cheeks. 

“Sorry…uh-“ 

It’s the barista who smiled at him when he walked in, “Hard day?” 

Greg lets out a chuckle, “You could say that.” 

“Then how can I make it easier for you?” Greg immediately picks up on the flirty tone in the man’s voice, and oh boy, he’s far too tired for this. 

Greg hesitates, glancing up at the menu, there’s a large board dedicated to the pumpkin spice latte, he’s heard so much about the drink; Sally had been in a phenomenal mood a couple of days ago, turned out it was the first day of them being back this year. 

“Ah, interested in the pumpkin spice?” Greg glances back at the barista blankly, “It ages very well, much like yourself, Sir.” 

Greg can feel the heat spreading across his face, the earlier blush making an aggressive reappearance. Part of him considers faking a phone call and leaving.

 

“Small americano, please. Takeaway cup.” He doesn’t mean to sound as blunt as he does, but it seems to get the message across. He sees the barista’s face fall, and feels bad for a second, but upon glancing over to the figure sitting in the corner in an armchair which his back to him, he feels a shiver of excitement at the possibility. 

He pays for his coffee, and goes to wait for it, a different barista taking over the machine. He glances over again, seeing the man drink out of a takeaway cup too. 

Could it be Mycroft? Everything about this screams ‘unlikely’ at him, but there’s a part of Greg that’s gathering the courage to walk over there. 

“Greg, tall americano.” He’s swiftly taken back to reality by the barista’s voice. He thinks he sees the man in the chair freeze, but he could be completely wrong. 

He grabs his coffee and goes to add some sugar to it; something he rarely does. He reasons with himself that he’s just stalling with the inevitable. 

 

Greg slowly walks through the café, heart beating wildly in his chest. It either was or was not Mycroft, and if he didn’t do this now he knew he would regret it later. 

Greg stops a few inches away from the armchair, he feels awkward and unsure. As if on cue, the other man’s head turns as though he can feel a presence behind him. 

Mycroft Holmes stares at him with wide eyes and Greg can feel his heart thumping in his ears. 

“Gregory?” Mycroft’s voice is soft, tentative. A blush had spread across his pale features and something about this makes Greg’s underlying fondness for this man intensify. 

“Hey, Mycroft…” Greg glances at the empty chair facing Mycroft, “Do you mind?” 

“Of course not.” Comes the quick reply. “Please, take a seat.” 

“Thanks.” Gregsmiles easily, he gets the chance to stare at Mycroft properly now. The warmth that was already present in his chest, only increases as he takes in Mycroft’s features. 

Mycroft is not as put together as usual. His tie has been loosened and his jacket sits on the arm of the chair, waistcoat still on, but shirtsleeves pushed up. Greg can see the constellation of freckles that cover Mycroft’s forearms, and he can feel a smile tug at the corner of his lips; how he’d love to uncover them all. 

 

Mycroft is watching him with curiosity in his gaze, and Greg notices the dark circles under the man’s eyes. It looks like Mycroft had ran his hands through his hair, it was in minor disarray and Greg can’t help but imagine what it would be like to run his hands through Mycroft’s hair. 

“Gregory?” 

Mycroft’s voice shakes him from his daydreams, and Greg blushes hard. “Wasn’t expecting to see you here.” Greg murmurs, mentally kicking himself. 

Mycroft glances down at the novel in his hands and then back at Greg. “Nor I you.” 

Greg shrugs, “Decided to treat myself to a coffee after the latest case.” 

“Near here?” Mycroft asks, although something in Mycroft’s voice suggests that he already knows exactly where it was, and that in turn this would not have been the nearest café to Greg. 

“Near enough.” Greg mumbles, taking a sip from his cup. Some of the tension in his shoulders eases. “And you?” 

Mycroft avoids Greg’s gaze and makes himself busy searching for his bookmark. “Parliament.” 

Greg chuckles, “They don’t have their own specialist coffee?” 

“Not fond of the company that comes with it.” Mycroft says matter-of-factly, a slight blush appearing upon his cheeks. Greg finds it adorable. 

Greg glances at Mycroft’s cup on the table. A scrawled _**“MIKE =) PSL”**_ takes up most of the side of the cup. 

“Pumpkin spice fan, are we?” Greg asks, aware that he’s fallen victim to Mycroft’s newfound awkwardness. 

 

Mycroft shrugs noncommittally, “I don’t normally partake in the fuss of seasonal beverages.” He murmurs quietly, staring at the cup on the table with regret. As though Greg has just discovered an embarrassing secret of his. 

“But?” Greg adds, longing to know more about this man that seemed to increasingly occupy his thoughts.

“I may be partial to a pumpkin spice latte.” Mycroft admits, embarrassed. 

Greg feels an effortless smile cross his face, and it seems to relax Mycroft that Greg is not laughing at him. “Nothing wrong with that. We’re all partial to something, if you think about it.”

Like me, he thinks, I’m partial to _you_ exclusively, you fabulous and intriguing man. 

Mycroft tilts his head to the side, a calculating expression crossing his face. “And you, Gregory, what are you partial to?” Greg could see a glimmer in Mycroft’s eye and something about their current situation gives him a sudden rush of courage. 

“You, Mycroft.” 

Mycroft’s eyes widen, his mouth opens as though he’s about to say something but no words come out. 

Greg realises a bit too late that maybe Mycroft had not been expecting Greg to say what he had. 

But hell, he’d been mooning over the man for months, he wasn’t getting any younger. 

He’d wasted enough time already, hadn’t he? 

 

Mycroft opens his mouth again, he seems flustered and all Greg wants is to reach over and take the other man’s hand in his. 

“Me?” is the only word that Mycroft manages. 

Greg smiles, breath catching slightly at the wave of fondness that crashes over him. “Yeah, have been for a while.” Greg takes a sip from his drink. “Thanks for noticing.” He adds teasingly, relieved when Mycroft actually laughs. 

It’s a glorious sound, and there’s something about this somewhat relaxed and off-guard Mycroft that makes Greg even more sure that he’ll never tire of this man. He wants _more_ , infinitively. 

 

A very false cough from behind them startles them both. 

It’s the barista from earlier. “Sorry for interrupting,” he says in a way that very much suggests he’s not one bit sorry. “We’re about to close.” The ‘so piss off’ is silent, but they both can sense it. 

“Oh, of course. Apologies.” Mycroft stutters, flustered. His novel falls to the ground as he stands and Greg goes to pick it up for him. 

“Pride and Prejudice?” Greg asks, surprise evident in his voice as he holds the book out for Mycroft. 

A new blush covers Mycroft’s cheeks, “I’m rereading it. Turns my brain off.” 

Greg places a hand on Mycroft’s arm, hoping to calm him slightly. Mycroft meets his eyes, and Greg finds himself lost in their depths. 

“We ought to leave.” Mycroft murmurs. Moving away from Greg to gather his things together. 

“Mycroft?” Greg asks, a slight panic has started to pour into his muscles, was this rejection?

Mycroft pauses and glances towards Greg. 

“Have you eaten?” 

Mycroft shakes his head, pure confusion written across his face. 

“Me neither.” Greg says, forcing himself to sound casual. He picks up Mycroft’s suit jacket and holds it out for Mycroft to step into. When he does, Greg rests his hands on Mycroft’s shoulders. 

“Come back to mine?” He asks daringly. “We could order a takeaway. I think I even have a DVD of the Pride and Prejudice with Colin Firth in it. Red wine. How does that sound?” 

Mycroft leans into him, “That sounds…wonderful, Gregory.” 

 

Greg barely manages to contain his happiness to a simple smile. But he makes himself busy with helping Mycroft into his coat, and when they turn to leave, he feels a shock of heat run through him when he unexpectantly feels Mycroft’s hand rest on the base of his back. 

“You never cease to surprise me, Gregory.” 

Greg grins in triumph, “Then please never give me the opportunity to stop.” 

They make it out onto the footpath. A drizzle is falling, but there is a black sedan idling on the curb. Mycroft moves towards it, opening the door and standing back to allow Greg in first.  
Inside the car, Mycroft murmurs something to the driver before the diver is drawn up. 

“I don’t believe I ever will.” Mycroft says, continuing the conversation. His eyes content and focussed on Greg. 

“Good.” Greg grins, reaching out to hold Mycroft’s hand. Mycroft glances down and intertwines their fingers. 

“Very much so.”

Greg feels his heart skip a beat, and before he can stop himself, he leans in to press a soft kiss on Mycroft’s lips. 

“Surprise.” He whispers.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find my tumblr [here](http://lostallsenseofcontrol.tumblr.com/). Come say hi.  
> More Mystrade coming soon, promise.


End file.
